Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine... (sigh) This one is just a
little bit of nonsense – since I enjoy the interplay between Janet and
Jack, and I never get enough of them
.......................
"I'm fine, Doc."
"Oh?"
"Yup."
"Lift your hands above your head, then, Colonel."
He grimaced. He sweated. He gasped in pain. But he was stubborn, and he got them both up. And promptly began bleeding through the bandage that covered his shoulder when he ripped the carefully placed stitches she'd just put in his torn shoulder.
Fraiser sighed, and pulled the bloody bandages off, and started yanking out the ripped stitches so she could clean the wound again, and re-stitch it.
"I told you that you weren't fine."
"I got them up."
"Colonel."
"Doc."
They were even grumpier than usual. Both of them. The infirmary staff knew Fraiser was grumpy because Cassandra was away from home for the first time in her life, and Janet missed her. And was lonely and bored. They had to assume Jack was grumpy because he was Jack. Nuff said, there. Fraiser had her own ideas about O'Neill's temper.
She was a little less gentle this time as she cleaned the wound in his shoulder and began stitching it once more.
"How much longer is Sam going to be in California?"
"I don't know."
He knew. Of course he knew. Probably right down to the very minute. She knew he knew. But she didn't say anything.
"Hold still." He was always fidgeting.
"Sorry."
No he wasn't.
She finished with the neat row of stitches – a couple more than the last time, since he'd ripped good skin along with injured skin – and then she re- bandaged him.
"Now, put on the sling."
"I don't want to wear-"
"So you've said." She handed it to him, and he scowled.
"I'm not-"
"Do it, Colonel."
"I can't do anything with my arm in a sling." He complained. "I'm going to starve tonight."
"You can pick up a phone and order a pizza one-handed."
"I can't do the dishes."
"If you order a pizza you won't need to do the dishes."
"I can't make my bed."
"It should have been made this morning, when you got out of it."
"It wasn't."
"Then sleep on the couch."
"I'll get a crick in my neck."
"Just do what I tell you, Colonel."
"Doc."
"Colonel."
He grumbled, and put the sling on, and she helped him put a shirt on over it – although it didn't close very well and one arm flopped. She tucked that arm in, and examined him critically. Despite his grumpiness, she could tell he was in a lot of pain from the shoulder. Part of that was her fault, she knew. She shouldn't have let him challenge her into making him lift his arm and ripping the stitches. That had been unprofessional. And, yeah, she could have been a little gentler when she was cleaning the wound out and re- stitching it.
"Does it hurt?"
"No."
"I'm going to give you a couple painkillers. One for right now. One to help you sleep tonight."
"I don't need-"
"Do what I tell you or I'll keep you here."
"You wouldn't."
"I would, and you know it."
Oh, he knew it. Of course he did.
"I can't drive home if I'm doped up."
Ha.
She sighed.
"I'll take you home, myself. AND I'll make sure your bed is made, AND I'll order you a pizza so you don't starve."
"What?"
Damn.
"It's simple, Colonel. Sam's not here to make sure you do what I tell you to do, and I'm not going to let you burn your house down trying to cook dinner one-handed. And God forbid you end up with a crick in your neck because you had to sleep on the couch. So I'll take you home, make sure you eat, make sure you take your painkiller, then I don't have to listen to you complain tomorrow morning when you come in bitching because it still hurts AND you're tired because you didn't do anything I told you to do."
Jack looked at her, a little surprised by her vehemence.
"I wouldn't have said 'bitching'." He said. "I don't bitch. I... um... complain."
She smiled for the first time since he'd entered her infirmary, and Jack did, too.
"You complain better than anyone I've ever met, Sir." She handed him a cup of water and a pill. "Take this, and I won't keep you here overnight."
"Are you really driving me home?"
"Yes."
"No way I can just take a cab?"
"I don't have anything else to do tonight. Cassie's still away with her friends."
"That must be lonely." He swallowed the pill and washed it down with the water.
"It's not really. I'm just not used to it." She took the glass back. "Ready?"
He nodded, and hopped off the table.
..........................
"You don't really have to take me in. I can order a pizza just fine on my own."
"What's the pizza number?" Janet asked.
He shrugged, and grimaced when he pulled the skin around his stitches.
"Don't do that, Colonel." She got out of her car and came around and opened his door for him and helped him get unbuckled. The medication she gave him hadn't really kicked in yet, but when it did, it would do so with a bang, and she figured it wouldn't be a bad idea if she were there to keep him out of trouble.
"It's on the fridge." He complained. "You don't need to-"
"Just humor me, Colonel."
They walked up to the door, and Jack fumbled for the keys in his pocket. Yeah, maybe the pills were kicking in, Janet decided while she watched him lose his motor skills. She took his keys and opened the door for him, then gestured for him to go in first and shut the door behind them.
"Are you hungry, Sir?"
"I'd like a beer."
He headed for the fridge.
"No beer. Not with your medication."
"Ah, come on Doc. Just one?"
"Water." She told him firmly. "Or juice. Or milk."
"But-"
"Colonel." She gave him her best 'I'm not going to argue with you about this' tone, and he grumbled and went into the living room and sat down on the couch.
"So."
He turned and looked at her, and she saw his eyes were just a little unfocused. Yup, the painkillers were kicking in.
"So?"
"You're really sticking around?"
"Yes."
"Then you can drink my beer for me. And I can watch and drool."
"Oh, I think not, Sir."
"Come on..." He wheedled.
She'd never heard him wheedle before. He did it rather well.
"I'll order your pizza for you. What kind do you want?" She picked up the phone and looked on the fridge. Sure enough, there was the number.
"You going to help me eat it?"
"I'll have a piece."
"Whatever kind you want."
What a gentleman.
She ordered pepperoni. It was simple, and she was sure he had to like that. Everyone liked pepperoni, right?
He watched her as she set the phone down.
"What?"
"Are you going to drink my beer?"
"No."
"Then I am."
"No, you're not."
He stood up, a determined look on his face, and she sighed.
"Fine. Sit back down. I'll drink your beer for you, and you can have milk."
He sat down, triumphantly. And she poured him a glass of juice – the milk smelled as though it'd been in there far longer than it should have been – and pulled a beer out of the six pack he had in his fridge, and she went into the living room and handed him the glass.
"I thought I was having milk."
"Yeah. Trust me on this one." She said, smiling. "Drink your juice."
"Thanks, Janet."
.......................
"I'm fine, Doc."
"Oh?"
"Yup."
"Lift your hands above your head, then, Colonel."
He grimaced. He sweated. He gasped in pain. But he was stubborn, and he got them both up. And promptly began bleeding through the bandage that covered his shoulder when he ripped the carefully placed stitches she'd just put in his torn shoulder.
Fraiser sighed, and pulled the bloody bandages off, and started yanking out the ripped stitches so she could clean the wound again, and re-stitch it.
"I told you that you weren't fine."
"I got them up."
"Colonel."
"Doc."
They were even grumpier than usual. Both of them. The infirmary staff knew Fraiser was grumpy because Cassandra was away from home for the first time in her life, and Janet missed her. And was lonely and bored. They had to assume Jack was grumpy because he was Jack. Nuff said, there. Fraiser had her own ideas about O'Neill's temper.
She was a little less gentle this time as she cleaned the wound in his shoulder and began stitching it once more.
"How much longer is Sam going to be in California?"
"I don't know."
He knew. Of course he knew. Probably right down to the very minute. She knew he knew. But she didn't say anything.
"Hold still." He was always fidgeting.
"Sorry."
No he wasn't.
She finished with the neat row of stitches – a couple more than the last time, since he'd ripped good skin along with injured skin – and then she re- bandaged him.
"Now, put on the sling."
"I don't want to wear-"
"So you've said." She handed it to him, and he scowled.
"I'm not-"
"Do it, Colonel."
"I can't do anything with my arm in a sling." He complained. "I'm going to starve tonight."
"You can pick up a phone and order a pizza one-handed."
"I can't do the dishes."
"If you order a pizza you won't need to do the dishes."
"I can't make my bed."
"It should have been made this morning, when you got out of it."
"It wasn't."
"Then sleep on the couch."
"I'll get a crick in my neck."
"Just do what I tell you, Colonel."
"Doc."
"Colonel."
He grumbled, and put the sling on, and she helped him put a shirt on over it – although it didn't close very well and one arm flopped. She tucked that arm in, and examined him critically. Despite his grumpiness, she could tell he was in a lot of pain from the shoulder. Part of that was her fault, she knew. She shouldn't have let him challenge her into making him lift his arm and ripping the stitches. That had been unprofessional. And, yeah, she could have been a little gentler when she was cleaning the wound out and re- stitching it.
"Does it hurt?"
"No."
"I'm going to give you a couple painkillers. One for right now. One to help you sleep tonight."
"I don't need-"
"Do what I tell you or I'll keep you here."
"You wouldn't."
"I would, and you know it."
Oh, he knew it. Of course he did.
"I can't drive home if I'm doped up."
Ha.
She sighed.
"I'll take you home, myself. AND I'll make sure your bed is made, AND I'll order you a pizza so you don't starve."
"What?"
Damn.
"It's simple, Colonel. Sam's not here to make sure you do what I tell you to do, and I'm not going to let you burn your house down trying to cook dinner one-handed. And God forbid you end up with a crick in your neck because you had to sleep on the couch. So I'll take you home, make sure you eat, make sure you take your painkiller, then I don't have to listen to you complain tomorrow morning when you come in bitching because it still hurts AND you're tired because you didn't do anything I told you to do."
Jack looked at her, a little surprised by her vehemence.
"I wouldn't have said 'bitching'." He said. "I don't bitch. I... um... complain."
She smiled for the first time since he'd entered her infirmary, and Jack did, too.
"You complain better than anyone I've ever met, Sir." She handed him a cup of water and a pill. "Take this, and I won't keep you here overnight."
"Are you really driving me home?"
"Yes."
"No way I can just take a cab?"
"I don't have anything else to do tonight. Cassie's still away with her friends."
"That must be lonely." He swallowed the pill and washed it down with the water.
"It's not really. I'm just not used to it." She took the glass back. "Ready?"
He nodded, and hopped off the table.
..........................
"You don't really have to take me in. I can order a pizza just fine on my own."
"What's the pizza number?" Janet asked.
He shrugged, and grimaced when he pulled the skin around his stitches.
"Don't do that, Colonel." She got out of her car and came around and opened his door for him and helped him get unbuckled. The medication she gave him hadn't really kicked in yet, but when it did, it would do so with a bang, and she figured it wouldn't be a bad idea if she were there to keep him out of trouble.
"It's on the fridge." He complained. "You don't need to-"
"Just humor me, Colonel."
They walked up to the door, and Jack fumbled for the keys in his pocket. Yeah, maybe the pills were kicking in, Janet decided while she watched him lose his motor skills. She took his keys and opened the door for him, then gestured for him to go in first and shut the door behind them.
"Are you hungry, Sir?"
"I'd like a beer."
He headed for the fridge.
"No beer. Not with your medication."
"Ah, come on Doc. Just one?"
"Water." She told him firmly. "Or juice. Or milk."
"But-"
"Colonel." She gave him her best 'I'm not going to argue with you about this' tone, and he grumbled and went into the living room and sat down on the couch.
"So."
He turned and looked at her, and she saw his eyes were just a little unfocused. Yup, the painkillers were kicking in.
"So?"
"You're really sticking around?"
"Yes."
"Then you can drink my beer for me. And I can watch and drool."
"Oh, I think not, Sir."
"Come on..." He wheedled.
She'd never heard him wheedle before. He did it rather well.
"I'll order your pizza for you. What kind do you want?" She picked up the phone and looked on the fridge. Sure enough, there was the number.
"You going to help me eat it?"
"I'll have a piece."
"Whatever kind you want."
What a gentleman.
She ordered pepperoni. It was simple, and she was sure he had to like that. Everyone liked pepperoni, right?
He watched her as she set the phone down.
"What?"
"Are you going to drink my beer?"
"No."
"Then I am."
"No, you're not."
He stood up, a determined look on his face, and she sighed.
"Fine. Sit back down. I'll drink your beer for you, and you can have milk."
He sat down, triumphantly. And she poured him a glass of juice – the milk smelled as though it'd been in there far longer than it should have been – and pulled a beer out of the six pack he had in his fridge, and she went into the living room and handed him the glass.
"I thought I was having milk."
"Yeah. Trust me on this one." She said, smiling. "Drink your juice."
"Thanks, Janet."